Roc-a-fella records

The imperial Skateboard P

Great Hova

Y'all already know what it is (Oh Shit!)

C'mon!

[Verse 1]

Yeah

So what if you flip a couple words

I could triple that in birds

open your mind you see the circus in the sky

I'm Ringling brothers Barnum and Bailey with the pies

No matter how you slice it I'm your motherfucking guy

Just like a B-Boy with 360 waves

Do the same with the pot, still come back beige.

Whether right or south paw, whether powder the jar

Whip it around, it still comes back hard.

So easily do I w-h-i-p

My repetition with wrists will bring you kilo biggers.

I got creole C.O. bitches for my niggas who slipped, became prisoners

Trees taped to the visitors

You already know what the business is

Unnecessary commissary, boy we live this shit

Niggas wanna bring the 80s back

It's OK with me, that's where they made me at

Except I don't write on the wall

I write my name in the history books, hustling in the hall (hustling in the hall)

Nah, I don't spin on my head

I spin work in the pots so I can spend my bread

[Chorus (Pharrell):]

And I'm getting it, I'm getting it

I ain't talking about it, I'm living it

I'm getting it, straight getting it

Ge-ge-ge-get get get it boy

(Don't waste you time, fighting the life stay your course, and you'll understand)

Get it boy

[Verse]

It's '87 state of mind that I'm in (mind that I'm in)

In my prime, so for that time, I'm Rakim (I'm Rakim)

If it wasn't for the crime that I was in

But I wouldn't be the guy whose rhymes it is that I'm in (that I'm in)

No pain, no profit, P I repeat if you show me where the pot is (pot is)

Cherry M3's with the top back (top back)

Red and green G's all on my hat

North beach leathers, matching Gucci sweater

Gucci sneaks on to keep my outfit together

Whatever, hundred for the diamond chain

Can't you tell that I came from the dope game

Blame Reagan for making me into a monster

Blame Oliver North and Iran-Contra

I ran contraband that they sponsored

Before this rhyming stuff we was in concert

[Chorus (Pharrell)]

[Verse 3]

Push (push) money over broads, you got it, fuck Bush

Chef (chef), guess what I cooked

Baked a lot of bread and kept it off the books

Rockstar, look, way before the bars my picture was getting took

Feds, they like wack rappers, tried as they may, couldn't get me on the hook

D.A. wanna indict me

Cause fish scales in my veins like a pisces

The Pyrex pot, rolled up my sleeves

Turn one into two like a Siamese

Twin when it end, I'm a stand as a man never dying on my knees

Last of a dying breed, so let the champagne pop

I partied for a while now I'm back to the block

[Chorus (Pharrell)]